Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Many of you have asked for photos of me on that night in question when I was attacked by female horror writers for the crime of wearing pink to a horror writers' conference. Below is a photo of the culprits as I tracked them down and re-gifted them with the crumpled tiara and home made trophy. However, I retained my honorary title of "B--ch" of the convention as I'd attracted too much male attention by being in pink.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

For those who have courageously asked for pictures from my stories...
I've just gone through my many Tupperwares of photos and come up with some beauties... including the Horror in Pink award and the two fans who inflicted it on me.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

8:00 a.m.It had been over five weeks since Nigel disappeared and Leslie filed the lawsuit against me. My life looked very different. Instead of romantic, gourmet dinners with Nigel, it was usually supper from a can.

Instead of luxurious trips, it was driving from one temp job to another. I was desperate for money and Leslie was preventing me from working in real estate. I was completely boxed in. No income – all outgo.

Early the next morning, I walked into the offices of Katz, Pillar and Gross, properly attired in my best black suit. Ready for anything. Or so I thought.

Gross stepped toward me in his starched whiteshirt, black slacks and red suspenders. Marching in precise time to him was a twenty-something man.

“Ms. Hartley...”

“Harte.”

“Ms. Harte,” Gross started over. “This is AaronStephens.”

Aaron Stephens nodded, puppy-like.

“Aaron will represent you this morning.” Gross said.

“Excuse me. What do you mean? You’re my lawyer.”

“Quite simply, you can’t afford me. I have filled Aaron in on the details of your case. He will do a fine job.” Gross looked like he was sniffing the air.

“You can’t do this. It is illegal, unethical, un-American...”

I complained until Gross was out of range.

“Ms. Harte?” young Aaron said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do to get you ready for your deposition. We only have thirty minutes before show time.”

“Is that what you call it? Show time?” I asked.

“Mr. Gross did tell you that your deposition isto be video taped?”

“What? Is Leslie nuts? I refuse.”

“It’s too late to refuse. You had ten days notice,” said Aaron.

“Did not.”

“Mr. Gross did.”

“That two-timing, red suspendered twit. I’ve been shanghaied.”

9:00 a.m. We sat at the conference table facing two cameras and three lawyers. Young Aaron leaned over and said, “This is so exciting. Everyone is asking me if this is a murder case.”

I wanted to thump the kid on the head.

“Look this way, Ms. Harte,” the cameraman directed.

I thought sure they would call for “Makeup.” I knew my only way through this was to put on a brave front. So, fake it I did.

Little and a lawyer named Funk sat side by side with a pile of books and papers between them. This was the first time I had seen Little up close. He smelled of dried blood and POLO.

“Ready, Missus Harte?” Little said, salivating.

“It’s Ms. Not missus. And no. You have no right to do this.”

“Ms. Harte, let me present you with a copy of the court order granting permission to video record your deposition.”

“I’ve never seen this before.”

“Well then that’s a problem between you and your attorney…isn’t it?If you refuse to cooperate you can and will be held in contempt of court. A warrant for your arrest will be issued. I suggest you cooperate.”

This was one of those dirty tricks I had heard about. I tried to remember what the Florida Rules of Civil Procedure said about notices of depositions. In my panic, I drew a blank. Little flashed me a nasty look. “Let’s begin, Ms. Harte.”

I didn’t want to be in contempt of court. Damn that Gross. He never warned me, he never argued for me against this lynch mob.

“Did you ever lose a hat?” Little shoved the question at me. The lawyer at his side scribbled a note to him.

I flashed Little a look of disgust, knowing itwould be caught on film. I’d be damned if I would buckle. He wanted tough? He was gonna get tough.

“Yes, I believe I may have lost a hat. I may have even lost two.”

Wherever Little was going with his stupid hat question, the point dissolved and he flushed. Score one for me.

We bounced ridiculous questions and answers back and forth. They were surprise questions designed to shake me. I answered sharply. My words calculated to underline the lunacy of this circus.

10:15 a.m.The video lights grew hotter. All I could see through the yellow glare were the black marble eyes of the rodent Leslie had set upon me. His questions grew sillier.

I laughed once or twice. Little became angry. “We’ve been at this for over an hour. Let’s take a break,” he said. “We’ll resume in ten minutes.”

He bared his teeth at me. Was he thinking of the blood coursing in my neck? “Be back here in ten minutes, Missus Harte,” he said.

“Sure, Miss Little,” I said.

Aaron ran to his office, and I hit the ladies’ room. I lingered, not wanting to be caught in an off-camera moment with Little and his associate. I waited ten minutes, popped half a Xanax, and headed back to the staging area.

I ran smack into Leslie leaving the men’s room.

“You look a little tired on camera, Alice,” hesmirked, excited to have been watching me without myknowledge.

“You’re a sick man, Leslie.”

“Do you believe in evil?” he asked.

“Don’t flatter yourself. You are not anything as exotic as “evil.” You’re just a victim of Control Domination Response.”

Leslie’s pale eyes flashed red when he realized I knew about his CDR. Maris had betrayed his confidence.

“What you do to me doesn’t count a smidge.” I said. “All that matters in this glorious world is how I respond to your behavior.” I hugged myself and twirled away from him. “Besides, I know what you did.” I bluffed and blew him a kiss.

“Bitch.” he yelled after me.

“Dust mite.” I called back, maturely.

Young Aaron was atwitter when we finally sat back down. “This deposition is costing Archer over ten thousand dollars. He must want you very badly. I wish this was my case.”

Another four hours of nonsense questions and we were through. The camera men were sweating. Little’s tan suit was soaked in perspiration and his shirt collar bore makeup smudges.

I grossed out over imagining what Leslie would do with this video when he watched in a darkened room.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

It was very sad to hear of the passing of screen icon, Elizabeth Taylor. She was arguably the most beautiful woman who ever lived. The headlines of her passing were quickly followed with articles about the color of her eyes. Were they really violet?

Quoting film critic Todd McCarthy who once wrote “What should abruptly stop me in my tracks, but a pair of eyes unlike I’ve ever beheld, before or since; deep violet eyes of a sort withheld from ordinary mortals that were suddenly looking into mine from mere inches away.”

It was a time when I didn’t need but could afford to pamper myself with lush facials and body wraps. I decided to treat me to four days at a posh spa. As I was signing in, the tranquil, eucalyptus scented lobby became a flurry of quiet excitement.

I turned to see Senator John Warner – a handsome dude – kissing tiny Elizabeth Taylor right before she was whisked into the inner sanctum of the facility. I was sure it was a hallucination brought on by the uber-relaxed vibes floating loose in the atmosphere.

Later that morning I was in the luxurious locker room, padding around in the daffodil yellow terry robe and matching slippers that were the uniform for all the female guests. My schedule had me headed for an exotic Jacuzzi soak before a massage. As I write this piece, I wish I could go back in time. Why is it that life offers you the very best when you really don’t need it?

As I tucked a few items into my locker and snapped the key, I realized I was standing right next to Elizabeth Taylor. My locker mate, she smiled sweetly, closed her door and walked into the Jacuzzi room. Mere mortals are always stunned to see folks from Olympus using lockers.

Once I collected myself, I found my assigned Jacuzzi and settled in. All the ladies grew quiet as Ms. Taylor entered the large room. She was dressed in the standard issue yellow robe and clearly had no makeup on. She looked down shyly, and then up at the ladies. Her eyes were the most luminous violet.It was an unearthly experience.

The women began to chatter among themselves, perhaps in an effort to make her feel comfortable.She seemed so lonely in that bubbling hot tub for one. I’m a nurturer. My mind scrambled like a hamster in a wheel trying to come up with a conversation starter. I could find nothing in common to use as an ice breaker. She seemed so isolated. What does one say to a goddess?